An Ounce of Performance a Pound of Promises
by CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: This is a one-off smut scene that was cut from 112 Words for Deception. Had it been included, it would have been in the middle of Chapter 8. It's not going to make a ton of sense without having read that story, though I'm not sure you necessarily need the context to enjoy the smut!


It was several more days before Arthur brought the idea up to Eames again, and by then, it was more order than request. One afternoon, Eames' cell lit up with a terse invitation. "Come to dinner tonight. Nobu. Dress like a grown-up."

Eames didn't respond to the text, but walked past the table where Arthur was working. Dom and Ariadne were bent over the model and paying no attention, and Polly was out. "Always trying to woo me, hmmm?" he asked, his voice low.

Arthur barely looked up. "Something like that. Be there at 8."

Eames smiled. It wasn't like he was going to say no.

Dinner with Arthur was remarkably nice. It was, unlike anything they'd done before, unambiguously a date. The restaurant was lovely, the food was good, and they both drank several of the house special Matsuhishi martinis. By the time they headed back to the hotel, Eames felt warm and relaxed. They'd talked easily, flirted, been kind to one another. It was new-this was all new-but he thought he could get used to it. Thought he'd maybe like to get used to it.

In the elevator, Arthur pushed the button not for Eames' floor, but for his own. Eames looked at him questioningly, but Arthur didn't answer. Instead, he simply led Eames to his room and fitted the key card in the door.

Seeing the light on and feeling the presence of someone else in the room the minute Arthur opened the door, Eames felt his back rise. He grabbed Arthur's arm as he stepped across the threshold and pulled him back. "There's someone in there," he hissed.

Arthur smirked. "Of course there is." He twisted away from Eames and walked inside, clearly expecting to be followed.

That's when Eames' stomach begin to sink.

When he saw the visitor, the sinking continued. Polly was sitting calmly on the couch, drinking from an icy glass. A bottle of Botanist gin was sitting on the table in a bucket of ice. As they entered, she put the book she'd been reading down next to it. She still had Jessie's hair, of course, but she was dressed like some sort of hybrid, wearing old cut off jeans and her Ramones t-shirt, barefoot. She wasn't wearing Jessie's heavy makeup. She looked calm and sober.

"You didn't need to break in," Arthur said, unperturbed.

"You're late," Polly replied. "I was bored." She gestured around the room. "You're not staying in here. Not even you are this neat."

"True." Arthur gestured to the bottle. "You've made yourself at home. Does that mean you're staying?"

Eames held his breath as Polly answered, unsure whether he wanted her to say yes or no. She smiled, neither the smile she was using for Jessie nor any other he recognized. Someone else' smile entirely. "Of course," she said. "How could I resist?" For the first time since they'd entered, she looked at Eames. "And you?" She raised an eyebrow.

Eames shrugged. "Whatever Arthur wants." He was happy to hear his voice was level.

Polly laughed. "Right, of course."

Arthur turned to Eames, that familiar scowl in his face. "That's not going to work, Eames. If you don't want to do this, you are more than free to leave. Don't make it about me twisting your arm."

Eames was quiet a minute. He should leave. It would be better if he did. Whatever this game was, whether Arthur was playing it with Polly, or with him, or both, he needn't raise the stakes any further. He could fold. He should fold.

"I'm good," he said, shrugging out of his jacket. "I'm going to have a drink." He grabbed a glass from the sidebar and poured several fingers from Polly's bottle. "And I have some questions." He remained standing, wanting to at least appear to be in control. He leaned against the wall.

Arthur smiled then, a little cruel. He poured himself a drink, too, and then sat on the sofa next to Polly. She neither moved toward him nor moved over to give him more room. "What are your questions, Mr. Eames?"

Eames studied Arthur's sly face, trying to find clues to his end game, or to the reaction he'd like to see. Eames was in no way beyond giving Arthur what he wanted in order to curry favor, but was unsure how to do that. As if he guessed Eames' thought process (which he probably had, it was likely written all over his face at this point), Arthur spoke again. "You don't need to look for a trap, Eames. This is just what I told you before-I am intrigued by the idea, I think it would make good practice for the job, and I don't see any harm in it."

Eames nodded slowly. There was clearly not going to be any dissuading Arthur at this point. If he didn't want to do this, he was going to have to just leave. And he did want to do it-of course he did, it made his blood run quick just to think about using Polly, and what he could do to her, to show off for Arthur. It was something he'd likely have thought of himself, given the chance, though he'd never have suggested it.

"OK," Eames said. "First, are we doing this up here, or down below?"

Arthur cocked an eyebrow and looked at Polly. "Do you have a preference?"

"Below takes less time, and has fewer...safety issues," she said, smoothly. "But if we're really calling this practice for the job, then up here makes more sense."

"Do you have a preference, Eames?"

"Below."

Arthur shrugged. "More efficient, anyway. Fine with me."

"OK, next question," Eames kept his voice calm. He had, on a few occasions, negotiated a scene with a partner beforehand-he didn't have a ton of experience with it, and tended to prefer his sex spontaneous, but it wasn't totally new to him. This, he told himself, was the same thing-get everybody on the same page so there are no misunderstandings halfway through. "Do you just want to watch, Arthur, or do you want to participate?"

"Just watch, I think."

"Give direction?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Maybe."

Eames nodded. That would be safer ground. That would be preferred. Before he could continue, Polly broke in. "Boys, much as whatever this struggle you're having is fun to watch, you're going to have to let me in on whether we're still pretending this is about Jessie, or whether it's me you're interested in having at this party."

Arthur turned to her. "Both. I'm serious about running through Jessie's scene with Eames-you're not going to get better practice than that, and I think you know it. The rest of it…" he shrugged. "I'm not opposed either way."

Polly looked at Eames. He'd been attempting to address Arthur and avoid her, but she forced eye contact now. "I've fucked you as a lot of different women, Jez," he said. "I don't mind this one. Since she's showered, anyway."

Polly laughed. "Alright."

"One last question, Arthur," Eames said, sipping his drink and thinking. "Do we need a tap out, here? How far are you planning on seeing this go?"

Polly looked at him curiously, her mouth twitching in a near-smile. Arthur looked momentarily confused, but then caught on. "You mean a safe word, Eames?"

Eames shrugged. "I'm sure you have some idea, in your brain of contingencies, about where this all ends. But these things tend to take on a life of their own after a bit. It may be a good idea to get that out now."

Arthur looked back at him, eyes clear and dark. "I think we're all capable of getting out of a situation we decide we don't want to be in anymore, aren't we?"

The bastard wasn't going to give an inch. "OK," Eames said. "Then I guess I won't worry about it." He drained the rest of his drink.

"We've all been drinking too much," Arthur said, rising. "Going under isn't a good idea. This is going to have to be real world." He didn't bother to try to make it believable that this was the first time he'd considered the complication. He'd just waited for them to agree they'd be more comfortable in a dream before pulling the option away. Once again, Eames was both oddly proud of Arthur's underhandedness and frightened by his calculation. He looked at Arthur for a long moment. I forgot, he thought. I forgot just how fucking terrifying you can be. I forgot thinking that I might wake up dead when I lay down next to you. And you didn't like me forgetting, did you? Is that why we're here?

Finally, Polly spoke, looking at Eames. "Do you want to start from the beginning? As Best?"

Eames nodded. It was as good a place to start as any. This part, he could do. Pretending to be Best, walking through his introduction to Jessie, throwing Polly some softballs. He'd done it a thousand times, with her and with others. Practicing a forge, or even a topside job like this, was a haul, like rehearsing for a play, but without the benefit of knowing the script in advance, or when the curtains might open and close. It was the part of Eames' job that few people who didn't also do it ever saw. But he and Polly had been in each other's pockets once. This part was easy.

Polly was in the bathroom, getting ready to be Jessie. She was fascinated by the conversation she'd just witnessed (barely participated in) between Eames and Arthur. Arthur became something she'd not expected. She wasn't sure where his manipulation ended, or if there was anything at all to this idea beyond it. It seemed like an unnecessarily messy bit of game play without a greater goal, but unless he was either actually turned on by the idea, or he knew something she didn't about how to get at Eames, she couldn't see his end game.

It didn't matter, she mused as she applied Jessie's tacky makeup. There was no real danger for her here. She had no problem fucking Eames, with or without an audience. If it was Arthur's desire to see her humiliated and debased, that was fine, she could give him that. In this skin, it meant nothing.

When Polly came out of the bathroom, she was Jessie. No hint of anything underneath. Eames was ready, too, sitting in a chair, eyeing her critically, his features pushed into disinterest. Arthur sat to the side, watching. It was a play, with Arthur the sole audience.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Best," Polly said, smiling Jessie's vacant smile. She stepped toward Eames and reached out as if to shake hands. Eames just stared at her hand with distaste, so she pulled it away.

"Take off your clothes," Eames said shortly, flicking his eyes over her. "Maybe that will be better. I don't want to have to come in contact with that." He curled his lip.

Eames' Best was more aggressive than Arthur's had been, but not unbelievable. "Is there any particular way you want me to do that?" she asked.

Eames rolled his eyes. "Quickly?" he asked, his voice thick with sarcasm. He'd elected not to try to change to an American accent-he hadn't studied Best as a forge, so he'd be unlikely to get it right. These mannerisms in his British cadence reminded Polly of imitating royalty. She pushed the thought from her head-no time for that, time to be Jessie. She needed to concentrate.

"I can see that you're thinking as yourself," Arthur broke in. "Do you need to start over at the beginning?" He still sounded more like Best than Eames ever would.

"No, sorry. I've got it," Polly said, using Jessie's mannerisms. Internally, she chastised herself. She wasn't a fucking amateur. She looked up at Eames, holding her features still, but showing some fear in her eyes. "Yes, sir."

Polly stripped slowly, making a show. Whether it was on request or not, she figured Jessie would have an idea of how this was to be done-it would be rote. She didn't look at Eames as she did it, just moved sinuously, almost dancing, in the artless way she'd seen the vacant-eyed junkies under the bridge do it. It seemed to work, as once she had stepped out of her shorts and pulled her t-shirt over her head, Eames reached forward and grabbed one arm, hard.

"Are you a junkie?" He was bending his voice now, capturing not just Best's disgust, but the fascination underneath that had to lead to him asking for this type of experience in the first place.

"No," Polly said, attempting to withdraw her arm, but not trying very hard, so that Eames could easily keep his grip.

"Then what the fuck is this?" Eames flicked a finger against the biggest of the scabs. "I'm not an idiot, bitch."

"I'm clean," Polly said in a rushed voice. "They tested."

Eames pursed his lips. "I know that. Are you deaf? That's not what I asked. Are. You. A. Junkie?"

Polly caught on. "Yes, sir." She looked down and willed a bit of heat to her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

Even though she knew it was in the mail, the slap caught her by surprise. Eames didn't smack her hard-it wasn't necessary-but he did smack her, right across her left cheek. Polly overreacted, since she was Jessie, holding her hand to her cheek and letting her eyes well up. She took a step back.

"Don't lie to me, girl." Eames' voice was colder now, but he was beginning to smile. This was his take on what would start to get Best going, and he was likely spot-on. He tilted his head and let the smile take over his face, thin and cruel. It was as if his real full lips had disappeared as he took on more and more of Best. "They'll let me do whatever I want to you, you know." He made a vague gesture, as if he were indicating some powers outside the room. "They don't care. I pay, they look the other way."

Polly gave a very slight tremble. She'd already forgotten Arthur, sitting quietly behind her. Her full attention was on Eames now, and on reacting to his Best as Jessie. It was coming as easy as it ever had. "I know," she said in a tiny voice.

"So you'd better do what I want, so I don't have to hurt you." Eames' smile fell, his face returning to disinterest. "Now take of the rest of your clothes."

Polly swallowed and did as she was asked, stripping off her underwear and bra and standing in front of Eames naked. Shaved bare, wearing another person, she felt more exposed than she'd expected. She closed her eyes and made it clear she was trying to stay still, opening them and looking anywhere but at Eames.

Eamed ran his eyes over her without enthusiasm. "Turn around."

Polly realized, as she did it, that it wasn't just the next step Eames figured Best would take, getting a look at what he'd bought from the back. It was still Eames in there, and he was making sure she didn't forget what they were doing-didn't forget Arthur. After she'd turned, Polly sought out Arthur's eyes, looking at him with her own expression, letting Jessie slip away. Is this what you wanted? Is this working for you? He didn't appear to be aroused, just curious. He held her gaze until Eames spoke again, ordering her to turn back around.

"You'll do," he said, shortly.

For a few minutes, Eames played with her the same way Arthur had, throwing out casual, brutal insults, ordering her into different positions. Then he upped the ante. "Get on the bed."

Polly put on Jessie's best attempt at a shy smile. "Are you coming with me?"

Eames rolled his eyes, but he pushed his body forward just slightly, as if subconsciously letting some attraction show. God, he really was good. "Not yet," he said. Then he pushed out his chin, indicating she should go.

Polly did as she was told, going to the bed and sitting on the edge, waiting for further instruction.

"Get up there and fuck yourself," Eames said, no change in his voice.

Polly crawled up on the bed, keeping her ass to Eames as she did it. She found she was enjoying the complexity of this, keeping three strands interwoven in her behavior-seducing Best, seducing Eames, seducing Arthur. All three would want different things. Was it possible to do it all at once? She doubted it, but it was interesting to try.

Polly settled herself in the middle of the bed, her back against the pillows, and spread her legs. She tilted herself slightly toward Eames, so that he'd be able to see exactly what she was doing, but raised her outside knee, allowing Arthur to get a pretty good view as well. She sucked slowly on her fingers, then put them between her legs. As she began to slowly stroke herself, she leaned her head back and pushed her chest forward.

"Stop faking it," Eames ordered from across the room, still sounding bored. "That's not how you really do it. That's how you do it when you're being watched. Do it like you're not being watched."

Polly stilled a moment, thinking. For Best, this was about debasement, she reminded herself, just as much-if not more-than sex. He wouldn't like this because she wasn't ashamed. She considered, then said, "alright, sir." She sat up, made brief eye contact with Eames, then pulled a pillow down onto the bed. She was surprised to find she didn't need to will her face red, it was already there. Of all of the things she'd done with other people's eyes on her, Polly wasn't sure she'd ever quite done this. She took a deep breath and laid on her front on top of the pillow, cupping her hands underneath it. Arching her back, she began to rub herself against her pillow-covered hands, dry humping the bed.

Polly listened carefully, and she was fairly sure she heard a breath hitch from Eames' direction. She squeezed her eyes closed when she thought of Arthur's impassive face also watching. She was beginning to see the genius in his plan, now. It took a lot to get her to feel shame, but she was getting there.

"Can you get yourself off like that?" Eames sounded more like himself, as if he'd temporarily forgotten about Best. Good, then this was getting to him.

"Yes," Polly kept her voice low, her face half-muffled by the pillow.

"Then do it. Hump your hands like a bitch in heat, and get yourself off. I want to hear it." The voice was back to being Best's.

Keeping her eyes squeezed shut, Polly concentrated for just a moment on only the feeling of her pussy grinding against the pillow. She could come like she, she knew, but it would be quicker and more efficient to fake it. She let her breath out, pushing it to a harder, gasping pace.

"Don't fucking fake it," Eames said, bored-sounding again. "I'll know. I want to see what you look like when you're alone. When you're in whatever disgusting hole you live in, and you can't get anybody to fuck you, how do you do it to yourself?"

Polly groaned softly, hoping the noise of irritation would be mistaken for one of pleasure. Fine. She'd do this for real. Closing her eyes again, she concentrated on the feeling of eyes on her, of her writhing body being watched. It made her hot all over. She pushed down harder against her hands, thrusting. It wasn't enough pressure to do anything quickly, though, so she took a shortcut, pulling her hands up on top of the pillow and pushing herself against her own warm skin, rubbing the heels of her palms directly against herself. She made herself make noise, but the rest was real, and she brought herself off quickly, widening her legs so she could be sure her quivering thighs were seen.

When she was done, Polly turned over and looked at Eames. He was still sitting in the chair, and still using Best's posture, but his face was hot, and his eyes were wide. He shifted slightly, and she could see he was working around at least a partially hard cock. Good. This is was working, at least for him. She wished she could see Arthur from this position, but didn't risk looking over her shoulder.

"Stay there," Eames instructed, getting up and walking toward the bed. He was looking at Arthur, over her head. His eyes flared, hot with arousal and anger and disgust. She shivered.

Once he reached the edge of the bed, Eames stopped. "You're going to suck me off," he said, casually. "But I don't want your filthy fucking hands anywhere near me. Get up on your knees and open your mouth."

Polly rose up and parted her lips.

"Not like that. Wide."

She complied, opening her mouth as wide as it would go. To her surprise, Eames seemed to be peering inside, as if looking for contraband. He wrinkled his face in distaste. "I guess," he muttered, as if she'd just spent some time convincing him that she was clean enough. "Put your hands behind your back and keep them there. If you touch me with your hands, or bite me, the repercussions will be severe."

Polly nodded to show she understood, and waited. Eames casually flicked open his trousers, his eyes over her head again, watching Arthur. His fask was a mask now, showing nothing. He pulled his trousers and underwear down only enough to get to his cock, which was half-hard. Polly looked at it, wondering if she should say something simpering and complimentary. She didn't have the chance. Eames grabbed her by the back of the head and shoved her towards himself. The position was awkward, she had to bend her neck down and push her shoulders back in order to stay on her knees, but she did the best she could, swallowing him down, moving slowly as he hardened in her mouth.

Once he was all the way hard, Polly sucked Eames off like she would any other time. She'd done it without her hands before, and she knew how he liked it. They may be playing a charade, but it was still Eames' body she had in her mouth, and she knew how to manage that. He twisted a hand in her hair, pulling her firmly back when she was getting too close to making him come. She couldn't look up, but imagined he was eye-fucking Arthur the whole time. She doubted he'd let her make him come like this, but she focused on it anyway, thinking it would be some sort of victory.

It didn't happen. He finally pulled her off and pushed her away. She looked at him, making sure he saw her flushed face, chapped lips, spit and precome dribbling down her chin.

"Look at Arthur," Eames ordered. She was surprised-were they done pretending she didn't see him over there? She turned. Arthur was still sitting casually, watching. But she could see from across the room that he was aroused. His eyes had changed. He held her gaze. She licked her lips.

"Tell me what you want to see," Polly said, letting Jessie's voice slip away and still looking at Arthur. Behind her, she could feel how still Eames was.

Polly thought for a moment that Arthur would get up and join them on the bed. He seemed ready to move. But he didn't. Instead, he looked away from her, back to Eames. "What happens next?" he asked. His voice was calm, but thin.

Polly turned back toward Eames when she heard him start to remove his clothes. She watched him drop his trousers and underwear and step out of them, toe off his shoes and socks, start to unbutton his shirt. His eyes were still on Arthur. She didn't mind.

Once he stood naked in front of her, Eames spoke again. The words were clearly not meant for her. "You're going to end up seeing things you don't want to see, pet."

"Don't tell me what I want to see." Arthur didn't sound angry.

Eames shrugged, then turned his gaze, finally, on Polly. She was still on her knees on the bed, her face more or less level with this. He reached toward her, pulled her into him, and kissed her. She leaned into it, opening her mouth so his tongue could slide in, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her hips,then spread one hand over her ass, possessive. It flashed on Polly that Arthur was seeing all of this from behind, and that show was for him, but the thought vanished as Eames pulled his mouth away from hers and nudged her head up, kissing roughly down her neck, then pushing her back on the bed. "Lie down."

She lay on her back and he threw one leg over her, so that he was kneeling above her, bracketing her hips with his thighs. Arthur was seeing them both from the side now, Eames on top of her. Polly turned her head and looked at him, but he seemed to be paying attention only to Eames. Eames leaned down and took one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, then biting softly. Polly hissed and arched. He squeezed the other breast with his hands as he continued, giving her room to rise off the bed a bit and push into him.

For a while, it was just a makeout session. Eames alternated kissing her mouth and mouthing at her neck and chest, his hands mostly at her breasts. She leaned back and enjoyed it. There was no show she could put on here that would be better than the authentic thing. Eames knew her body so well, and he wasn't pretending she was someone else anymore, or that he was. Finally, he pulled away from her, moving down the bed to put his face between her legs. He didn't tease, just went immediately at it, unnervingly precise. It took very little time before she was bucking gently against his, her fist in her mouth to catch her moans. Eames lifted his head for only a moment. "Stop trying to be quiet," he ordered. "I want to hear you."

She did as she was told, taking her fist out and gripping the sheets, moaning as she came. He licked her through it, then turned, resting his face on her thigh, his eyes once again on Arthur.

Polly was just distracted enough, coming down from her orgasm, to be surprised when Arthur silently rose and moved toward the bed. By the time she realized he was there, the hardness tenting his trousers was filling her whole field of vision. She was still lying down, and he stood at the edge of the bed. He pulled Eames towards him and met no resistance. Polly watched as the two men kissed above her, feeling arousal already building back up. Eames was still looming over her, but leaning, he and Arthur kissing hard, mouths rough on one another. It was surprisingly loud. Holding himself steady on his knees, Eames reached toward Arthur's tie, pulling at it, never letting up on the kiss.

Arthur finally pulled away. "Take your clothes off," Eames said. "Come here."

Arthur looked momentarily unsure, but the expression was nearly gone before it started. He stepped back and began to undress, his eyes never leaving Eames. Polly was the voyeur now, but she couldn't say she minded. She watched curiously as Arthur took off each piece of clothing, folded it, and laid it neatly on the chair. So much control. His body, as he uncovered it, was lovely, more so than she'd have expected. He wasn't nearly so skinny as she thought, with an obvious strength about him.

Once Arthur was naked, he tilted his head questioningly. "Are you going to fuck her?" He seemed only mildly interested in the answer.

"Do you want me to?"

Polly knew she should be getting irritated, as she'd clearly been relegated to a prop in whatever play these men were performing. But she wasn't. She was enjoying watching their dance.

"Yes." Arthur said, still calm. He opened the bedside table drawer and took out a condom, handing to to Eames as casually as if he were passing the salt.

Eames looked down at Polly. It wasn't in him, really, to treat her like an object. "What do you think?" he asked, his mouth twisting as if it were all a joke. "What would you like?"

"Fuck me." She said it lightly, just to show she was still game. She reached up and ran a hand down Eames' chest. "Just like this."

He nodded and opened the condom. He kneed her legs open, then put his hands under her thighs. "Up."

She lifted both legs until her feet were on his shoulders. He pushed into her quickly, fully, and she gasped. He made a low noise and began to move, sliding his hips back and forth slowly. She arched up, meeting him on each slow thrust, finding his rhythm. He wants Arthur to see that we're good like this, she thought. Why? What good will come of that?

After a minute, Polly stopped trying to guess Eames' motivations. It didn't really matter to her. Instead, she rode out the sensations as he started to move faster. He turned his face and mouthed at the ankle propped on his shoulder, holding her thigh tightly on the other side for leverage to push himself in deeper.

Polly looked at Arthur. He was still watching, still calm, still rock hard. His face had flushed some, but he wasn't making any noise. She thought about speaking to him, asking him to join them, but she wasn't sure how he'd take it. Eames must have had the same idea, because, just after one hard thrust, he said in a low voice, "do you want to come up here now?" He moved his hand from her thigh and held it to Arthur.

It was somewhat surprising when Arthur climbed on the bed behind Eames. Eames slowed down, but didn't stop, and Polly watched as Arthur reached curiously around him. His touch was light, and he stroked the part of Eames' cock that was outside Polly's body, then followed it with his finger to her entrance. As he ran his finger around, he looked at her. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No." She looked at Eames, who had stilled for Arthur's question. "He can make it hurt, but he has to really try."

Eames grinned. "Was that a request, Jezzie?"

Polly smiled back. "You're driving," she said.

Arthur watched the banter between them, but there was no sign it bothered him. He ran the curious finger back up Eames' cock, then up his chest, his throat, and into his mouth, adding another when he got there. As she watched Eames suck on Arthur's fingers and he began to move inside her again, Polly felt desire coil hot inside her. Jesus Christ, these two were incredible. She hadn't much thought about that aspect of it, about the potential to watch them together. It was a very welcome surprise.

Arthur pulled his fingers out of Eames' mouth and slipped his hand behind Eames' back. Polly couldn't see, of course, but it wasn't hard to guess what Arthur was doing, and she felt Eames tense when at least one of those spit-slicked fingers was pushed inside him. He groaned, somewhere between pain and pleasure and started to move faster, snapping his hips into her. Arthur kept hold of him with his other hand, bracing it around his chest, keeping him from going in all the way.

"That's not very nice," Polly gasped, her hips searching for the rest of Eames' length.

Over Eames' shoulder, Arthur smiled. It was mischievous. "Who said anything about nice?" He must have deepened his fingers then, because Eames shoved forward hard, breaking loose of his other arm and fucking Polly deep. She groaned and lifted back up to meet him.

"Yes, like that," she encouraged. He was fucking her for real now, and Arthur seemed to be doing the same to him. Eames' body vibrated between the two of them, fast and sharp. Polly could see the pink rising in his neck and chest. He turned again toward her ankle, biting it hard to muffle a groan.

"You're going to come like this," Arthur said. His voice was dispassionate, but his eyes were hot and his cheeks were red. "With my fingers in you, fucking her. You couldn't stop yourself even if you wanted to."

"Could," Eames muttered, not slowing. "But I'm not going to."

"Good," Arthur smiled. Then, looking at Polly, "how about you? Can you come like this?"

Polly nodded. She began to pay attention to her body again, to the way she'd begun to hurt around where Eames' cock was pounding into her, at the tingling she felt all over. He smiled at her and changed angles slightly, knowing where to hit her to make her see stars. On the third hard stroke, she shoved her hand between her legs, rubbing her clit hard between two fingers, and letting him push her into coming. "Fuck, FUCK!" She let them hear here as she came.

Eames came right behind her, Arthur's arm back around him now, hips snapping, groaning. "Jesus Fucking Christ," he muttered, bending his head down as the last spasms shook him. Arthur stilled behind him, holding him up and no longer pumping his fingers. For a moment, they all just breathed. Then Polly moved, swinging her legs down from Eames' shoulders and pulling away from his softening cock, then hopping off the bed.

"You can't possibly think you're done." Arthur stopped her in her tracks.

She turned back toward him and smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it." He'd removed his fingers from Eames and wiped them on the bed. His cock was still hard, jutting out when he turned toward her. Eames was tying off the condom and tossing it in the direction of the trash.

"Do you want me to take care of that?" she asked, motioning to Arthur's cock. "I didn't think…"

Arthur shook his head. "No. I want you to watch."

Eames turned then, looking Arthur up and down, then letting his eyes rest on Arthur's cock. "What is it you had in mind?"

Arthur didn't answer, just crawled past Eames up the bed, settling himself where Polly had just been. He used one foot to push gently on Eames' chest, making his intention clear. Eames grinned. "You don't even need to ask."

It didn't take long for Eames to finish Arthur off with this mouth. Polly mostly watched Arthur's face as it turned from the calm mask he'd worn the whole time to something wilder. He grabbed Eames' hair and held him in place, fucking his mouth. Eames turned red and wide-eyed, but he didn't pull away. When Arthur came, he pulled out and smeared himself over Eames' lips. Everything about the scene was dominant, but it didn't seem angry.

Later, Polly laid back on her hotel bed. She was naked, just out of the shower. It was very late-early, really-but she was too wired to sleep. She took stock of her body, letting herself feel all the soreness. Everything hurt. She hadn't felt so well-used in a long, long time.

Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift to the evening she'd just spent. She'd left two warm, naked male bodies, both beautiful in their own way, to return to her room alone. It felt odd to have done that, but also right. They'd stay where they were, she imagined. Not touching, but falling asleep next to each other. It was good. She was, in whatever way she was capable, happy for them.


End file.
